


the color of your spirit.

by ColorInPlatinum (orphan_account)



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, M/M, Missing Scene, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23460481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ColorInPlatinum
Summary: james was injured after the fight with arthur. he needed a doctor.
Relationships: James Ironwood/Arthur Watts
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	the color of your spirit.

**Author's Note:**

> ironwatts for the win!!!!

he’s dangling over lava, superheated in a matter of seconds by huge quantities of dust beneath the floor, held only by the mercy of his collar, the strength left in his hand, and the shaky madman bearing the weight. james is a sight, covered in sweat, pale-faced, quivering from fear and exhaustion. his left arm, one of the few bits of muscle left on his body, hangs limp at his side, smoke rising from the burnt flesh. there’s no blood, everything is cauterized, but not a scrap of skin is left, leaving him with exposed muscle and nothing else.

and his eyes. in this whole fight, arthur hadn’t gotten a chance to look him in the eye. twenty years and nothing about them has changed; deep and enthralling, the darkest blue you’ll ever see, lit up by the lights surrounding them and glimmering like sapphires. arthur thinks he remembers telling james once when they were younger that his eyes looked like sapphires. james had laughed, but it wasn’t a malicious sound. it was soft. it was gentle. it was loving.

“i will sacrifice…” and this voice is not that. no, not anymore. “...whatever it takes--!” this voice is harsh and angry and afraid. it cracks like thin glass. “--to stop her.” once upon a time, to hear this tone would have nearly brought arthur to his knees, heartbroken and aching to fix whatever was wrong. but now? it makes him grin. he feels laughter bubble in his stomach, but it’s choked and fizzles out at his throat.

“oh, i hope you do james.” because he does. james is made of sacrifice. made of heroism. so little is left to give up. arthur spits a mouthful of something bitter over the edge of the platform. he hears it sizzle far below. “i hope you do.”

there’s a long pause. arthur waits for a bullet or a blade or for james to simply let go, but instead he’s being pulled inward again. “arthur watts. you are…” james takes a breath, and arthur’s feet touch the ground again, though he’s held tight by his collar and forced to bend down a bit to meet james’ height. “...under arrest.”

arthur laughs this time, his throat no longer clamped shut. “oh am i? please, read a dead man his rights and his charges.” and then he glares. “just kill me, james. you know putting me behind bars won’t stop me.”

“i know.” james admits. “but you deserve a trial.” arthur almost cackles. of course james ironwood, of all people and of all times, would still insist on following the law as best as he could.

“james, if you put me behind bars, i’ll either slit my throat before you get the satisfaction of calling me guilty, or someone will come for me.” 

silence. james doesn’t respond. he’s out of breath and he looks like he’s having trouble putting words together. throat dry, tongue heavy. arthur glances down and finds james’ shaking left hand digging in his pocket, tearing through the little bit of protection his burns gave him. blood is starting to seep through the fabric, and arthur makes a face. “what in the world are you doing?”

james lets out a breath that sounds defeated, as if he was hoping arthur wouldn’t ask. “i… have to cuff you.” he says. when he pulls his hand out of his pocket, the entire thing is covered in blood, and james lets out a sharp cry as he withdraws a pair of temporary zip-cuffs, meant to keep arthur locked up long enough for the cavalry to ride in. he bites down on one end and then pulls the other to loosen them, but the harsh plastic and metal dig into his tender muscle and he roars with pain and drops them.

arthur’s heart skips.  _ no _ , he thinks.  _ no, we’re not doing this. not right now, not with him. not again. _ he sighs and places his hands on the wrist at his throat. “james, you’re not going to even be able to call for help like this.”

now it’s james’ turn to stop. there are tears in the corners of his eyes from the pain, but they well further at arthur’s tone, and he struggles to keep them from spilling over. how long has it been since he’s heard arthur watts speak to him like that? “if i let you go… you’re gonna run.” he decides.

arthur rolls his eyes and scoffs. “james, if you let me go and i run, i’ll get two steps before you shoot me in the back.” he insists. “i’m unarmed, the only thing i can control from up here--” he waves his other hand, the remaining rings lighting up. “--would drop us both about ten stories into the ground and kill us both, and my aura is shattered.” james growls in frustration. “just--let go of me. i can help you.”

_ “of course i can help you!” says the plucky little boy at the library table. he’s a few years younger than the rest of the hunters at the academy, a prodigy well-known in the kingdom, but the books surrounding him are for classes years ahead of even james. rumor has it he had two doctorates before joining the academy, and he’s working on his third. bright green eyes and round-rimmed glasses and just a few tiny hairs atop his lip that place him just at puberty’s door. james smiles at him. he’s cute. “i know math can be hard by yourself.” _

james sighs and looks back up at arthur. “i let you go. you help me. then you come with me quietly, no resistance, no nothing.”

arthur shrugs and nods. “of course. i’ll even hand over the rest of my rings right now.” salem is coming. he knows he won’t rot away in a cell forever, and tyrian won’t let that happen anyway. and he doesn’t need his rings to be a threat. james lets out a slow breath and releases arthur’s collar.

the doctor straightens, his back popping from being bent over for so long, and he readjusts his tie and flattens his collar before he starts to pull the rings from his fingers--to which james holds up a hand. “just… help me.” arthur bites back his smile.

“sit down. legs outward, don’t pull them under you. i’m going to lower the platform so i can get to my bag.” some things never change, he supposes. medicine and engineering were always his forte, and a part of him still takes great joy in helping those who need him. 

james nods and obeys, almost falling on his backside. eventually, he lays down, staring up at the stars through the open ceiling of the arena. something beeps as arthur starts to lower the platform again, bringing them back down to ground level. james sits up as arthur walks away, making sure he won’t run.

his medicine bag is right where he left it, and arthur positions himself so his body hides its contents as he pops it open. the seer within is dormant, a listening device of sorts for the time being. arthur considers whispering something to it, to salem, but decides against it. he slides his scroll into his sleeve as he retrieves his first aid kit. he snaps the bag closed and leaves it. james will take it and look through whatever is inside, but he’s taken anything that would help the other side already.

this was, more or less, the plan, after all.

arthur holds up the little red box as he approaches, and james groans as he sits up. they don’t speak as arthur sits on his knees at the general’s side, popping open the box to start gathering supplies. a bottle of disinfectant, burn relief ointment, bandages galore--he even manages a sling. 

as the doctor starts to clean the injury, the chemical smell from his supplies all too familiar to james, the general can’t help but stare. he wants to ask. he wants to know how arthur died and lived to tell the tale. he remembers their last conversation before the accident, how they yelled and cursed and threw things. how arthur had become so furious he cried. james had never seen him cry before in all the time he’d known the other. he’d been convinced arthur was incapable. 

he was there when it happened. when arthur climbed into one of his machines for a routine test. when alerts started to ring, when arthur started to scream, when the interior of the mech caught on fire and left nothing but gore and ash behind. he was at the funeral, paid his respects to a casket full of pieces, gave a speech.

“i watched you die…” he finally croaks. arthur falters in his work, his hand stopping for a moment. “i… spoke at your funeral. i even helped to… to write your obituary.”

“i know.” arthur says, resuming his task. “i read it. none of you did me justice.”

“what, did you want a memoir?”

“perhaps i wanted more than the employee bio section of the atlesian science department’s website and a headline that mourned the project over me.”

“you think i wrote the reports?”

“i think you were interviewed.”

“arthur--”

“don’t!” 

arthur stops, jabbing an accusing finger at james’ face. his other hand grips the general’s arm tight, enough to hurt in his weak state and remind him that he’s helping. “just don’t, alright? in twenty years, you haven’t learned how to have an intelligent conversation without starting an argument! twenty years, you can’t even do that?! unbelievable! what did i ever see in you--”

he throws the gauze in his hand to the ground at his side and angrily soaks another piece with the disinfectant. his lips are pursed, nose scrunched, brows furrowed. he won’t look up at james now, and unfortunately, he’s very familiar with this look.

“i watched you die--” james tries again.

“yes, you’ve mentioned that.” arthur snaps back. 

“will you let me talk?”

“you did far too much of that before i left.”

“but why did you leave?” and brothers, he sounds so broken when he says it. arthur almost chokes on the words james gives him. 

he doesn’t know if it’s disbelief or mere surprise, really. he would have assumed his speech earlier gave james enough of an idea of why he left, but… he has a feeling he means more than just science. no, james is referring to the empty spot in each of their beds now, the vacancy upon their fingers, the hole in their hearts. 

james is referring to that nervous first date at the movie theater where arthur tried to steal his first kiss and he accidentally knocked his glasses against james’ face and left him with a tiny cut that stayed there the whole school year. he means james desperately attempting to make homemade murg makhani and nearly burning down the kitchen and how they laughed so hard they almost couldn’t breathe. he means skin against skin, soft gasps, kisses leaving behind wicked marks and nails dragging across flesh. he means the year arthur spent at james’ side helping him recover after his accident. he means…

“why did i leave you.” it’s not a question. arthur sets the gauze to the side again and starts up the last portion of james’ arm. “i was under the impression it was the other way around. you did leave your ring at the house when you left.”

james flinches and goes silent. yes, that’s right. he’d done that. rolled up a handwritten note and slid the engagement ring over it to seal it up. 

“...did you keep it?”

“no.” arthur answers quickly. “no, i threw it over the balcony. if you want it, the property belongs to the government now, i think it landed in the rose garden.” he looks up. james feels his heart crumble a bit. when did arthur’s eyes become so sad? “but its meaning rotted a long time ago.”

james pulls his arm away, and arthur tuts and grabs it again. james responds by yanking it back, hissing in pain. arthur makes a face and plants his hands on his hips. “what?”

“can i kiss you?” arthur nearly chokes. “just once.”

“why?!” arthur demands, looking almost disgusted by the idea.

“it’s been twenty years, arthur.” james emphasizes. “i… missed you. just for a minute. why not--”

“because it’s been twenty years, james!” arthur roars, yanking the general’s hand back. he skips the burn relief ointment and starts to wrap it in bandages, teeth grit as he continues. “twenty years of anger and heartbreak and wondering what could have been! twenty years of hating you and what you did to me, all that false hope, every fake compliment! i have hated myself and wished i could die for twenty years because of you! twenty years of staring at that damned engagement ring--!”

“i thought you said--”

“I LIED!” arthur shrieks it, his voice breaking as he yanks james forward by the gauze wrapped around part of his arm. they’re close enough that james could steal that self-indulgent little kiss now if he wanted, but he knows he can’t. “you were everything to me, james. i loved you! i loved you with every ounce of my being, but you couldn’t give even a gram! all i ever did for you, for anyone, was give and give and give! and you took every bit of it and told everyone it was your own. when i developed the paladins, no one praised me--they praised you! when i fought pietro on the penny project, you chose his side because he was willing to hurt himself for it and i wasn’t! and then she--”

she came as sleep paralysis. a smoky apparition that reeked of rotting flesh and antique perfume. she held him and praised him and gave him instructions.

arthur sneers. he lets james go and returns to wrapping the burn. he can see blood seeping through some of the bandages where he pulled a bit too hard, but frankly he could care less. 

“...so why don’t you kill me?” james asks. “i’m at your mercy, aren’t i?” arthur scoffs.

“what’ll i kill you with? a suture needle and some medical tape? aspirin overdose? i tried blowing your skull to pieces already and you managed to worm your way out of that.” he cuts the gauze and pins it in place. just the sling and this is done. he’s regretting it. 

“you tried to kill me?” james asks. arthur glares up at him in response. “no you didn’t arthur.”

“what--”

“potshots and ice rounds? that’s all you’ve got? i know you’re capable of worse. and when it came down to the wire, you couldn’t even bring yourself to cut off my arm. this? this will heal. i’ll scar, yes, but you didn’t hurt me.”

“what’s your point?” arthur mutters, unfolding the sling and snapping in the supports.

“you’re a better man than you think you are.”

arthur throws the sling in james’ face and stands, stalking wordlessly to the zip cuffs on the ground. he slides his thin hands through the holes and grabs the fastener with his teeth to tighten them.

“call your damn backup.” he snarls, keeping his back to james. “lock me up and throw away the key.” james stands, taking the sling with him as he does, slowly examining it to figure out how to attach it properly. “and then, by this time tomorrow, when i’m smashing your head into your own desk, just remember who really brought this upon your accursed kingdom.”

silence. james slides his arm into place and tightens the strap across his chest, pulls his scroll from his pocket, and hesitates. “it didn’t have to be like this arthur.”

“i thought you believed in destiny, general.” arthur snarls.

“i do.” he presses a button on his scroll. “this is ironwood, requesting transport from amity arena for the criminal arthur watts. he is unarmed and unable to fight, but backup is encouraged.” he glares at arthur, boring holes into the doctor’s skull. “put him behind the thickest walls we have.”

“just kill me, james.” arthur demands.

“tell me how you did it and maybe i will.”

arthur laughs. “if you haven’t figured it out yet, you’re a lost cause, and your kingdom will burn with you as the tinder.”  


**Author's Note:**

> http://atlesianic.carrd.co


End file.
